


A Time Agent and Two Hunters Walk into a Bar...

by dapatty



Category: Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-22
Updated: 2008-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has teleported himself to a pub for a drink and runs up on our beloved Winchesters and tries his best to shag them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time Agent and Two Hunters Walk into a Bar...

_So an ex-Time Agent walks into a bar…_ Jack thinks there could be a joke in there somewhere, especially if he were not three sheets to the wind already and trying his very damndest to get into the pants of these two brothers, thank you very much. These two pretty, pretty brothers—one with these fuck-me green eyes and a lifted eyebrow full of cockiness and the other hunched shoulders and dimples—the cutest dimples and very big hands. _Just the thought of what those hands could do—._

“Captain Harkness, are you really saying that you _had relations_ with an eight armed lady?” dimples—Sam—asks, completely sidetracking Jack’s naughty train of thought.

And no, he has not been trying to impress them with some of his escapades spanning from the Time Agency to his current Torchwood gig. Certainly not the more intriguing alien ones and not completely avoiding those Ianto shaped ones. Especially the Ianto ones. Jack can’t help he _accidentally_ teleported himself to America after their last fight about how he can’t help but to flirt with anything with or without a pulse, present company excluded. Even Ianto would flirt with two hot brothers, surely.

“Sammy, did you just use the euphemism ‘had relations’ to describe freaky alien sex, complete with octo-handjob?” Green eyes—Dean—asks complete with sexy eyebrow lift. “I’m embarrassed for you, little brother.”

Sam, with a tinge of red to his cheeks, glares at Dean and they seem to have an entire silent conversation complete with insults that seems to end where it begins—full of subtext, with Sam glaring and Dean smirking, rolled eyes and shaking heads.

“Sam, I asked you to call me Jack, being how I’m on shore leave,” Jack says with an eyebrow wiggle, trying to distract the two from their strange, too-familiar, psychic battle and back on task. “And yes, to say she was all hands would be doing her a fair bit of disservice.” Jack downs the rest of his Bourbon and motions for another round. “But that’s _nothing_ compared to the time I was trapped in a discothèque on Gamma Albatross. It was a very mod scene with a lot of pouty, pointy-eared boys.”

“And I bet you were the life of the party.” Sam deadpans, tossing back another shot with a grimace.

“Of course.” Jack states, full of bravado and a grin. “So, what’s the most excitement that either of you boys has ever gotten into?” He asks hoping they will spin some tale that involves them with each other at least—Jack’s a 51st century man, and where he’s from, such things are far from taboo—he will settle for anything at this point, because it’s looking like he’s not going to be able to talk his way into either pair of pants tonight. Maybe he’s losing his touch, he thinks, then turns his game face back on. His grin becomes coy and full of promise.

Dean’s eyes seem to mist over as he says, “Well, I’ve never over-sexed an eight-armed lady—.”

“Only because you’ve never met an eight-armed lady,” Sam mutters gratefully.

“Well, yeah,” Dean allows. “But those twins in Tallahassee…and that time with the pie, such amazing blueberry pie. Ethel is a saint,” Dean lifts up his shot in gratitude before knocking it back and bellowing for another round and Jack can’t look away from those lips, those full, flushed lips and how Dean takes a slow, deliberate draw from his longneck.

“Of course all the credit would go to Ethel,” Sam mutters, with a slight blush and taking a drink of his beer.

“There is nothing like amazing pie after excellent sex, Sammy.” Dean states, and Sam’s blush deepens. For some reason, Jack doesn’t think the twins had anything to do with pie or the sex in question, but maybe he’s reading more into the situation than is really there.

“Am I right, Jack?” Dean asks with a wink. Nope, Jack’s right on target with that one.

“Certainly.” Jack agrees, launching into a story involving banana pie, a Time Lord, and the overconsumption of rum-based daiquiris in several improbable flavors.

After that, Jack starts to feel that they may be onto him, or at least Dean is. Not that he’s sure he can walk a straight line, let alone coordinate a threesome with two well-muscled brothers, but he wanted to—wants to even—no, especially if they are aware of his willingness.

Even so, the conversation drifts from Jack and Dean trying to top each other’s sexual escapades—some of which were surely exaggerated, to things they’ve killed, to Jack offering them a job to them not-so-politely declining to add “Alien sons of bitches” to the growing list of shit they deal with. Somewhere along the line, Jack starts to really like them. They’re beyond cute. It’s something in the way they are—young and old at the same time and saving people because who else is going to do the job. He thinks Gwen would really like them too, for their selflessness if nothing else. And he can’t help but wonder, if he can ever find his brother, will he be able to have half of the easy camaraderie that Sam and Dean have?

At closing, they stumble out of the bar together. He watches them stagger off around the block, leaning heavily against each other, Dean muttering incoherently along the lines of, “Sammy, are you trying to feel me up?”

And Sam saying, “Of course, Dean. It was my evil plan all along. Not to rule the underworld, but to get my brother profoundly drunk, feel him up on our way back to the motel and take scandalous advantage of him.”

To which Dean replies, “’S’not such an evil plan,” as they turn the corner.

Even as Jack sags into the cab, he misses them. Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe he should teleport back to Ianto and make a few apologies. Or a few introductions…

“Where to, pal?” When the cabbie turns around, the backseat is empty.


End file.
